Presages
by Krizrin
Summary: Even the most innocent desire can be a harbinger of catastrophe. Terenas and Lianne Menethil.


**Warcraft belongs to Blizzard.**

Presages

The Queen lay abed, watching her husband, the King, prepare to join her. He shed his outer garments quickly; and it was obvious to her that for the moment, he desperately wished to separate himself from everything the trappings of his office represented. Wearisome, it was, the weight of his many responsibilities - the just governance of a kingdom, the health and safety of its people. There was much to consider, and then to wisely act upon. He sighed, shaking his head, deep in thought.

She smiled, watching the play of firelight on his fair hair, now slightly tousled from his hurried disrobing. He sank down upon the divan near the fire. For a long moment, he sat there, pondering his bare feet, wriggling his toes upon the heavy woven carpet that offered its sturdy protection from the intense chill of the stone floor beneath. He studied its pale, floral design absently, not seeing it at all, simply enjoying the silence and the warmth of the fire, as he mulled over various particulars of his day.

His lean, angular face - so very handsome - was haggard, the sandy brows furrowed with care. He was tired, the Queen knew, and troubled by matters of state. She sighed; but that was his way - forever the responsible one, and doomed, as such, to age before his time.

"Come to bed, my love," she called softly and he looked up at her. "Come talk to me, and ease your mind…" He brightened at the sight of his beautiful wife, the sound of her soft voice, her welcoming gesture and its promise of sweet shelter.

Theirs had been a political union, certainly; yet, she had quickly grown to love this quiet, gentle, honorable man. His faithfulness, his comforting tenderness, had made her his in every way. And in the early days of their marriage, when homesickness had plagued her, his abiding love had been her refuge.

Sometime later, when they had been blessed with their precious daughter, she had never seen a man more changed - more _completed_ - by a new life. The wee child, so pacific in nature, and sleeping soundly in the warmth near the fire, had stolen her father's heart… and there was much of it to steal.

The Queen smiled, watching him cross to the basin to wash his hands and face, and she pondered him as he did so. The tall, hard, graceful body that so moved her - the wide back, lean and strong, the long, muscular legs. Broad of shoulder, he was, with the heavy mane of pale, disheveled hair, falling in a careless amber wave to his shoulder blades.

He was a staunch, committed man - a brave man - and yet, that proud heart was so tender. It was hers, and she reveled in its possession, holding it close and safe within her own.

"Come to bed, husband," she teased, "Your wife requires you." He chuckled warmly, glancing at her with loving, mischievous eyes as he dried his hands - those large, warm hands that so gently held and protected her and all he cherished. He stepped aside to lean over the baby's hooded bower, peering within. Closer, he leaned, with a gentle kiss and she heard the cooing babe and the soft, soothing murmur of his voice.

"I adore you," she whispered as she watched him. _'Mine_,' she thought, with a smile. And so he was. He came to her then, quickly shedding his breeches and the soft silk shirt he wore.

"I have news for you, my King," she murmured, as he crossed the floor, smiling, naked; the aura of his maleness, earthy and passionate, was intoxicating. At her words, his pale brows arched, inquisitive, all care forgotten in the insular moments that they shared.

She lifted the heavy coverlet invitingly, and he slipped beneath it, smiling and restless, taking her into his arms. His heat enfolded her and he pressed his face to her throat, murmuring soft pronouncements of his love for her. She smoothed his hair and he lifted his head, his warm mouth seeking hers in a longing, tender kiss as he sighed, relaxing in her embrace.

More than any bastion, war machine or weapon, this woman was his sanctuary - for it was far more than mere flesh that _she_ guarded; and he gave himself willingly into her care.

He smiled, holding her close, and shortly, she took his strong wrist, pressing his palm to her smooth lower belly.

"I have something for you," she whispered in his ear, moving then to kiss his cheek. He gasped softly, raising his head in realization, his hand stroking gently, almost reverently. She nodded a little, with a smile, studying his wide, sea-green eyes, his awed expression. "In the summer," she murmured.

"Oh, my love," he whispered urgently, kissing her, holding her closer still as she nestled warmly against his strong chest.

"The priest says it is a boy," she murmured, "You will have your son, my Lord."

He shivered suddenly, unexpectedly, and she looked at him, curious as to his response. His eyes sparkled in the firelight; and for a long, strange moment, he was perfectly still in her embrace. She knew he desired a male child; although he had often said their daughter would, one day, make a fine queen. Many times he had spoken of her future - of the need for paladin training - that she might rule well, imbued with the Light.

"A son," he whispered haltingly, with that same pensive look, as though some strange intuition haunted him. A portent, looming.

Seeing this, the Queen too, shivered, folding her hands protectively over her belly, over the new life within. An unseen shadow had been cast upon their good fortune. How had such an inexplicable chill fallen over these joyful tidings? _What was the source of this icy hand around her heart?_

She turned then, pressing her husband onto his back that she might lean over him. She pondered his handsome face; and now the troubled look had passed, she saw to her relief - but still, some instinct spoke, a voice softly keening in whispered riddles.

"A son…" he murmured, smiling now; he laughed a little, a bit giddy, as she guessed he rightly should be. Dismissing all ghostly fears, she leaned closer with a kiss.

"And what will my Lord call his prince?" she sighed.

The King mused a long, and thoughtful moment, but there was no lingering uneasiness in him, nor in his sudden, radiant smile, when he whispered,

_ "Arthas…"_


End file.
